


Love and Affection (and other useless tidbits)

by MonkeyMindScream



Series: Rare Pair Week 2019 [2]
Category: Super Robot Monkey Team Hyperforce Go!
Genre: Enough fluff to smother your enemies to death, Like an unreasonable amount of fluff, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, Which in retrospect might have been Mandarin's plan all along, if anyone were to try to weaponize affection it'd be him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 07:36:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20404057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonkeyMindScream/pseuds/MonkeyMindScream
Summary: Day 2: MonkeysMandarin puts his foot in his mouth and accidentally gives away he has feelings. It all spirals out of control from there.





	Love and Affection (and other useless tidbits)

**Author's Note:**

> Massive shout-out to projectaffectivity/chanceofclouds on tumblr, as the greater portion of this fic was based off her super cute ideas and headcanons!

They had been conversing about something or other when it happened; the _what_ didn’t matter. What mattered to Antauri had been Mandarin’s laughter reverberating off the walls over something he’d said to him, and the vibrations of it hitting chords in his center and making them twang. Mandarin’s laugh was honestly sort of ridiculous when he did it in earnest. It was raucous and loud, but Antauri found himself adoring it anyway.

“That’s glorious,” Mandarin said, still giggling. “Oh, I _love _you—”

He froze. Antauri stared at him, every sense he had – physical and spiritual – suddenly straining.

“What did you say?” he asked quietly after a moment of silence.

Mandarin looked at him, panic etched across his face. “_That,” _he said frantically. “I love _that_. What you said. It was funny.”

“You said you love me,” Antauri said mutedly, shocked and not fooled.

Panic building. “No I didn’t.”

There was a slow, elated smile spreading across Antauri’s face, and he didn’t have the wherewithal to hold it back. “Yes you did.”

Mandarin seemed to be growing increasingly horrified. “No I didn’t!”

Antauri was fully beaming now. “_You love me._”

Frantic flailing. “_No I don’t!_”

At Antauri’s continued grinning Mandarin apparently deemed a tactical retreat necessary, and abruptly moved to flee the room.

Oh Antauri was having absolutely _none _of that. Just as quickly as Mandarin could try to leave, Antauri’s hand shot out to catch his wrist.

“You said you _love me_.”

“I said ‘_that_,’” Mandarin snapped, spinning around to face him and wrenching his arm out of his grip. “‘I love _that’!_ Not— what _you_ think I said!” He began angrily jabbing his finger into Antauri’s chest. “I said ‘I love _that,_’ and if you’re going to continue this behavior Antauri then so help me I’ll—”

“I love you too.”

There was an instant where Mandarin deflated midsentence. Antauri knew that instant was his chance to say what he had to, but exhilarated and anxious as he was, he couldn’t find the words he needed for the job.

So he did what was likely the most daring thing he’d ever done, and kissed him instead.

* * *

In the following weeks, Mandarin came to learn that being in a relationship with Antauri really wasn’t that different from being friends with him. He had to wonder if it was due to Antauri being generally reserved, or if the pair of them had actually been a bit farther past the line of “strictly platonic” than he’d realized.

It was something of a blessing and a curse, really. On the one hand, Antauri’s sense of professionalism was unshakable, so he didn’t have to worry about anything distracting him from more important matters (namely keeping a city that seemed hellbent on imploding in on itself from doing so). On the other hand… apart from Antauri first kissing him, physical displays of affection had been far and few between.

(Also as a small aside, Mandarin wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever be able to fully forgive Antauri for claiming their first kiss before he’d been able to.)

As regrettable as it was, affection was unfortunately a key element to being in a relationship. It had absolutely nothing to do with Mandarin possessing a _personal_ desire for it, it was simply that without it there was really nothing to separate their current, allegedly _romantic_ relationship from their formerly platonic one. And if there was nothing to set the two apart, the entire affair seemed rather pointless.

_Basic _logic, really.

Mandarin was not the type so sit back and wait for things. He never had been. That said, he knew the importance of striking when the moment was opportune, which though unfortunate did occasionally require some waiting. The problem _here _was that he wasn’t sure how deep Antauri’s sense of reservation went, so it was difficult to gauge when the opportune moment _was_. As much as he might be compelled to entwine their bodies together, or reclaim his honor by being the one to kiss _Antauri_, there was a lingering sense of reluctance holding him back, because he was never sure how it would be received.

Once more, just for reference: Mandarin _did not_ personally care one whit about whether physical affection was displayed between them. In fact he found the very concept of affection to be a pointless distraction at best, and an exploitable weakness at worst, but situation was situation. They’d gone through the trouble of making things “official” or whatever, it was a matter of pride to go all in now. That was _all, _nothing else.

Eventually though, it got to the point where Mandarin was becoming annoyed with his own hesitation and inability to read Antauri’s feelings towards the matter. Anyway, when had he ever let other’s opinions stop him from doing what he felt ought to be done? He’d take the first step of this, and that would be that.

He resolved to make it a small, subtle attempt at first though, so as not to startle or upset Antauri too much. While this could potentially be taken as an indication that Mandarin was going _soft_, he defended that people’s emotions, regrettably, could effect their general performance, and of all his teammates he needed Antauri at his peak. Hence subtly being key.

The next time they were sitting with each other and having a conversation, Mandarin made a point to plop himself into Antauri’s lap and remain there for the duration of it.

* * *

Antauri couldn’t help but notice that, since starting a relationship with Mandarin, the only way he was ever actually able to meditate anymore was if he did so alone. Mandarin had since become more preoccupied with either pulling Antauri in close to him and keeping him there, or else draping _himself _across Antauri. Both were equally distracting.

For what it was worth, Antauri did truly _try_ to be put out by it. It was hardly _his_ fault the most he could manage was a brief sense of exasperation.

At present, Antauri found he didn’t even have energy for _that_. When Mandarin came closer, he veritably sagged against him and stayed that way, and felt no guilt for it. This, honestly, was a drop in the bucket.

It wasn’t unheard of for Mandarin to accidentally fall asleep during their mutual meditation sessions. The Veran Mystics had tried _endlessly_ to correct this issue back when the pair of them had been training, but for all their effort there was still a decent chance that Antauri would have his focus shattered by the feeling of a head falling on his shoulder, or arms wrapping around his waist. Antauri never brought it up with him (out of pure unabashed self-preservation), but it had become increasingly obvious that Mandarin was prone to clinging in his sleep. It was not a trait that had helped reduce Antauri’s growing affection for him in any way, as hard as he’d tried (though considering how things had turned out, perhaps that was for the best).

The point was, Antauri was due some retribution in this regard. He was almost tired enough to take advantage of it and simply close his eyes and go to sleep without so much as another word.

The last few days had been hectic in terms of monster and criminal activity. Frustratingly, there didn’t seem to be a common thread between any of the incidents, so it wasn’t as if the Team could cut things off at the source. There was no source. It was simply that every villain, evil creature, their brother, _and _their evil kitchen sinks had apparently decided it was a good week to raise Cain.

Antauri wasn’t _injured_, necessarily, but his whole body still felt remarkably sore from the amount of activity and general punishment he’d put it through. He’d had vague plans to go to bed early, but since he was already _here_…

Mandarin, needing no explanation, said, “I still motion we just launch them all into deep space.”

Antauri’s face scrunched. “Mandarin, we cannot reasonably _launch people _into_ space_.”

“Why not, precisely?” he asked, disentangling himself (he would later go on to claim Antauri had pouted at this; Antauri would assert he’d done no such thing). “One less thing we’d have to worry about, and with luck it would set an example for the other would-be troublemakers.”

Antauri sighed to keep himself from rolling his eyes. “Mandarin, it is not our duty to make ‘examples’ out of anyo—”

He stopped. Mandarin had shifted his position so he was sitting in front of him, and had taken one of his feet into his hands. He was rubbing his feet.

Antauri felt something warm and light start bubbling in his chest. He wondered distantly how ridiculous his expression must look, and just as distantly decided he didn’t really care.

“No, it isn’t our ‘duty,’” Mandarin said, apparently oblivious. “But I prefer to think that as a group we try to go above and beyond.” He looked up, and Antauri’s expression was evidently just as ridiculous or besotted or _whatever _as he suspected it to be, because Mandarin’s mouth suddenly twisted into a smirk. “Something you’d like to say, Antauri?”

Antauri was smiling in spite of himself. Oh well. “Not especially,” he returned lightly, “I’m simply surprised you’d condescend to this.”

Mandarin’s smirk faltered a bit, and suddenly he’d turned to observe a different part of the room a bit too casually. “I’ll accept your appreciation and recommend you leave it there.”

“I am _very_ appreciative,” Antauri said, meaning it and hoping it showed. “It’s remarkably considerate of you. But I am also genuinely taken aback someone of your _station_ would put yourself up to this.”

“I can _stop_ at any time, you realize?” Mandarin asked, turning back to sulk at him.

Antauri shrugged, smile still playing at his lips. “If memory serves, those are _your_ words I’m using, Mandarin, not mi—”

Mandarin suddenly began ruthlessly scrabbling his fingers across the bottom of Antauri’s foot, pulling a bout of extremely uncharacteristic noises and flailing from him. “Oh, _shut up_, will you?”

* * *

Antauri sensed Mandarin’s displeasure from across the Robot. He looked over from his current task (reloading some of the Mega Missiles), to see Mandarin glaring down at something on the ground. Following his gaze, he found the source of the problem.

Sprx and Gibson were bickering down below. For once, however, there didn’t seem to be much heat behind the argument. Actually, going off of expressions alone, it seemed something like playful banter. Moreover, they _were_ still getting their respective chores done, just… slowly. Regardless, Mandarin didn’t seem to appreciate their distraction from the task at hand.

Antauri finished with the Mega Missiles, then approached Mandarin before he had a chance to spew too much venom on his teammates.

“I’ve finished,” he said simply. “Shall we go run a diagnostic to make sure everything has registered in the Robot’s systems?”

(The simplest way to redirect Mandarin’s wrath was most often just to remove him from the situation altogether.)

Mandarin spared him a quick glance, then resumed scowling down at Sprx and Gibson. He looked prepared to either tell Antauri to take care of it himself or take a moment to yell at the pair _before_ going to help him, but then Antauri reached out and softly touched his wrist. Mandarin paused, looked back over to him. When he didn’t pull away, Antauri let his hand slide into his. With still no overt signs of resistance, he began walking to enter the Robot, gently pulling Mandarin behind him.

Sometime later, Mandarin could be found ranting as they ran the diagnostic. Antauri didn’t mind. Mandarin had always felt very strongly about… well, everything he’d ever felt _anything_ about, really. It was who he was. It wouldn’t do anyone any good for him to bottle up his surplus of feelings, and Antauri was more than willing to be the one he vented to. He didn’t expect any of the rest of the Team could be able to handle him past a certain point, anyway.

“…unfocused, _childish_ sniping—!” Mandarin fumed, eyes glued to the Robot’s main screen. “We have a job to do and yet day after day they insist on wasting time on their petty, inconsequential rivalry—!”

“I believe,” Antauri said calmly, standing next to him, “that the conversation we witnessed today was had on more friendly terms than usual.”

Mandarin huffed, stabbing at the keyboard as he typed. “Then they should’ve had it _after_ their task had been completed if it was _so_ important.”

Antauri gave Mandarin a small, even look that he didn’t seem to notice. After a moment’s thought, he slowly moved to stand behind him, and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. It felt… not _awkward_, per se, more that Antauri was keenly aware that he wasn’t particularly practiced at this sort of thing. He supposed now was as good a time as any to start.

As Mandarin’s furious typing faltered to a surprised stop, Antauri said, “Their task wasn’t being hindered by their conversation; there was no reason to wait.”

There was a prominent pause before Mandarin resumed working on the diagnostic, almost defiantly now. “They shouldn’t split their focus on trivial matters. That’s reason enough.”

Gradually growing more comfortable, Antauri softly pressed their cheeks together from where he stood behind him. “Your team is capable of multitasking, Mandarin.”

Mandarin stopped typing again and rotated in Antauri’s arms to face him, glaring.

(Antauri couldn’t help but notice that at no point did he move to break his grip or push him away.)

”You’re being _highly_ insubordinate_,_” he said, brow furrowed indignantly.

“I suppose I am,” Antauri returned, shifting closer still and gently resting their foreheads together. “I hope you can forgive me.”

Mandarin grumbled, “Don’t make a habit of it,” before hiding his face in the crook of Antauri’s neck.

* * *

Mandarin was very plainly feeling tense, but it wasn’t his typical kind of tense. It was actually more _benign_ than usual. Usually Mandarin was made tense by things not going how he’d planned, or having others – knowingly or not – interfere with what he deemed was his business. He often lashed out as a result.

Currently, he’d slept wrong. He was literally, _physically_ tense, and that was all. It was making him crankier than usual, but he hadn’t lashed out at anyone as of yet. Antauri was hoping to keep it that way.

Antauri had learned that his ghost claws could be set to a, for want of a better term, “low setting,” in which they wouldn’t phase through something entirely. They’d really only phase just slightly past the surface. Moreover, while they were originally designed for slashing and tearing, at this setting the effects of his claws amounted to little more than a gentle humming sensation. Which he suspected had the potential to feel quite pleasant when combined with gentle pressure.

He was proved resoundingly correct when Mandarin almost immediately melted into his touch.

“What’s this for?” he asked, tilting his head slightly so Antauri had better access to his shoulders and back.

Antauri smiled. “I owed you for earlier,” he said, relishing the look of content spreading across Mandarin’s face. “And you were uncomfortable.”

Mandarin made a noise indicating that was a _vast _understatement, and Antauri hummed sympathetically. He wondered if Mandarin now had the same light, warm feeling he’d had when he’d been on the receiving end of something like this. He hoped so. That had been nice.

They mumbled back and forth to each other for a while. There was no real need to talk, so subjects came and went with their whims. Antauri’s claws brushed against Mandarin’s side. A smile twitched across his face as he shivered, then he gave Antauri a light push to make him move away.

“That’s enough for now, thank you,” he said evenly, expression once again blank.

Quite unfortunately, his reaction – while not something Antauri had been looking for _specifically_ – had not gone unnoticed.

Wrapping his arms around him as though hugging him from behind, Antauri let his claws phase partially into Mandarin’s sides, and then drummed his fingers against them.

An eye for an eye, as they say.

(Antauri could confirm he was still incredibly endeared by Mandarin’s laugh.)

* * *

The city had been under attack, which by this point couldn’t draw much out of Mandarin beyond a dull sense of “mmf, must be Tuesday.” The ensuing battle hadn’t been anything special either, further accelerating Mandarin’s sense of normalcy towards the situation. He’d even been vaguely enjoying himself at first.

And then Antauri took a blast to the _head_. It was a devastating shot that sent him careening into a far wall so hard it _dented_, and when he fell back to the ground he was completely limp, eyes blank. _That_ drew so many emotions out of Mandarin that he’d legitimately had a moment where he thought his mind had spontaneously deteriorated, and he was thus in the process of dying.

Suffice to say the creature that had done the blasting was a nonissue shortly thereafter.

Despite how gut-wrenching it had been to _watch, _Antauri was still alive. He was just unfortunately not _conscious._ Gibson couldn’t offer a specific timeframe in which to expect him to wake up, and didn’t feel confident or comfortable enough to hazard a guess for one (regardless of Mandarin’s fuming and demands for answers). They would simply have to wait and see.

The time spent _waiting_ was awful. Mandarin hadn’t realized how many times in a day he would turn to say something to Antauri, and would still try to do without thinking. Turning to speak only to find the space next to him empty was… difficult.

Regardless of being a teammate down, Mandarin still had a job to do. In fact, _because_ he was a teammate down (_especially_ because the one out of commission was his _second in command_) his job had been made that much harder. Constant bedside vigil wasn’t really an option as a result. He told himself that was fine. Antauri was, for all intents and purposes, stable. And anyway, if something was going to happen – good or bad – it would happen whether Mandarin was seated next to him or halfway across the city.

The thought that it would be something bad exactly _when_ he was halfway across the city buzzed in his ear constantly, no matter how many times he tried to shoo it away. Though honestly even something _good _happening while he was away (Antauri regaining consciousness, specifically) was something he found didn’t sit well with him. The thought of Antauri waking up _alone_ was upsetting. Perhaps he was simply projecting too much, but he knew _he_ would want someone around if he woke up from being comatose for who knew how long. The sense of disorientation would be a nightmare in and of itself, let alone any lingering pain he might have.

Were the situations reversed, he knew Antauri wouldn’t let that happen. It was stupid, perhaps, because he knew there wasn’t any choice in the matter (and he knew _Antauri _would know there wasn’t any choice in the matter, and furthermore wouldn’t hold anything against him), but he felt guilty for not being able to assure he could provide that in return.

His worries turned out to be blessedly unfounded. After a week and a half Antauri finally woke up, and Mandarin _had_, in fact, been around for it. He’d felt like a weight that had been inexplicably tied around his neck was finally allowed to drop to the floor.

Gibson had recommended Antauri spend another night or two in MedBay for observation, which Antauri, though about as pleased as anyone else would be to be told they’d be spending the night on a table rather than their own bed, had agreed without complaint.

Antauri quickly came to learn that that in no way denoted that he’d be sleeping _alone_.

It took a while for him to get comfortable, but he did eventually begin to nod off. He considered, as he slid further and further into unconsciousness, the paradox of how he could be just as exhausted from doing absolutely nothing (for over a _week_, apparently) as he’d ever been working from sunup to sundown, when all of a sudden the MedBay door opened.

As he groggily looked up to see who was entering, wondering distantly what tests Gibson could hope to run at this time of night, the figure strode across the room. He only registered who it was as they pushed their way onto the table next to him.

“Were you awake?” Mandarin asked quietly.

“Marginally,” Antauri said. Mandarin fidgeted uncomfortably, though Antauri wasn’t sure if that stemmed from regret of potentially waking him up, or if it was just from lying on the table.

Mandarin suddenly shifted so he was lying half on top of him with the side of his head was pressed flush with Antauri’s rib cage, audio-receptor directly over his heart. Antauri, though momentarily nonplussed (and still caught slightly between awareness and sleep), slowly wove his arms around him, holding him still closer to his chest.

“I’m still here, Mandarin,” he said softly. “Don’t worry.”

Mandarin scoffed. “I gathered that when you responded to my question, Antauri. I’ve yet to encounter a corpse capable of _that_. I’m not _‘worried.’_”

Attempted rudeness aside, Antauri found himself smiling weakly.

“I’m forbidding it anyway,” Mandarin mumbled into his chest. As Antauri raised his head slightly to look at him, marginally confused, he clarified, “Leaving me. In any regard. You’re not allowed. I forbid it.”

Unsure of how to respond, Antauri simply _didn’t_, and took to rubbing slow, soft circles in his back.

Sometime later, after Antauri had assumed Mandarin had fallen asleep, he heard a small voice say to the dark room, “I love you.”

Antauri had an odd feeling in his throat. He kissed the top of the head resting on his chest and whispered back to the dark, “I love you too.”

(Then, with humor that was tattered and ripped around the edges, “I said _‘that.’_”)

**Author's Note:**

> I am very stringently referencing a scene from something else in the first snippet at the beginning. If you know what it is, you win my highest esteem.


End file.
